28. Who Turned Up The Heat? #2
“Because you’ve been playing hard to get for the last seven weeks, give or take. Because you’re keeping me standing here, waiting around for an answer to my question when the answer seems pretty obvious to me.”
“Pretty obvious, huh? And what’s the obvious answer?”
Carter tugs on the elastic holding my hair together.
When it tumbles to my shoulders, he rakes his fingers through it.
“The obvious answer is yes because you’re obsessed with me.
You can’t stop thinking about me and my pretty eyes.
And my dimples.” Hot breath rolls down my neck. “You love my dimples.”
“Your arrogance never fails to amaze me.”
“What you mean is confidence, and you love that about me too.”
I wind my arms around his neck, fingers curling into his hair as he hoists me up to him and starts walking us toward my bedroom. “Is that so?”
“I know you like the back of my hand.” He lays me down on the bed and steps back, working the buttons of his shirt before he slips it off, revealing his broad chest, his impeccably chiseled torso, that deep V that leads a trail of raw desire right down to where it disappears into his pants.
“What am I thinking right now?”
“That you want to come,” he replies simply, ditching his pants on the floor. His boxer briefs follow quickly, and a heady need unfurls in my belly as his knees hit the mattress. “Around my fingers, on my tongue. All over my cock.”
My tongue glides across my lower lip as my heartbeat settles between my thighs, and something raw and feral squeezes in my throat as he prowls toward me.
He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my pants and drags them down my legs.
His rough palm scrapes over my torso, covering my breast, squeezing.
A moment later, the sweater I’m wearing is on the ground, leaving me naked and exposed.
There’s something about the heat stacked behind his gaze, so dark, so starved, that makes it hard to breathe when he looks at me.
I reach for him, trying to guide him up my body, but his palm lands on my collarbone, forcing me backward.
“Ah-ah, pretty girl.” Tender lips find the delicate skin of my inner thigh, tasting. “You haven’t answered my question yet.”
Fuck. What was the question again?
He trails the tip of his finger up my slit, ghosting over it, and my head falls back with a moan when he grazes my clit.
“God, yes .”
“Yes? Is that your answer or are you simply letting me know you enjoy the way I touch you?” His half-lidded gaze holds mine as his tongue traces around my aching center, making it cramp with need. “Be more specific, Ollie. Are you mine?”
He sinks one finger inside me, achingly slow, and all thoughts leave my brain. “Yes,” I cry. “Yes, I’m yours.”
“Ding, ding, ding,” he whispers. “Right answer.”
My back arches, head falling to the mattress when he buries his face between my legs. His name leaves my lips over and over again as I yank his hair.
His mouth is a wet dream, his tongue a lethal weapon, and I’m ready to let this man destroy me.
And oh God , does he ever do it well. Thrusting fingers, grazing teeth, and a wicked tongue that never quits, I come undone with an explosive orgasm that leaves my legs quaking.
Not until Carter crawls up my body do I realize his hands are trembling.
Catching my breath, I stroke his cheek. “What’s wrong?”
“I like you so much,” he blurts. “I like everything about you. Is that right? Is it okay to tell you how much I like you or am I supposed to keep it to myself? Tell you once and never talk about it again? Tell you every single day? I don’t know, Ollie; I’m new at this.
All I know is I really wanted to tell you, and also, I’m super fucking terrified.
” His lids fall shut with a sharp inhale, his forehead resting against mine.
When his eyes open, I note the worry, the fear, and I’m glad I’m not alone. “I don’t wanna mess this up.”
I turn my head, kissing the inside of the palm that rests against my cheek. “I like you so much, too, Carter. And I don’t think you’ll mess it up. You’re already so great at it.”
His face brightens. “Yeah? I mean, I’m great at most things, so— hey !” When I deliver the first whack to his shoulder, he captures my hand and pins it above my head. “Hit again and I’ll tie these hands behind your back,” he whispers against my lip. “I have no idea what I’m doing, Ollie.”
I don’t either. I’ve been in two serious relationships, and though both lasted over a year, I’ve never felt what I feel for Carter. This intensity that vibrates between us, the magnetism that draws us closer and closer, it’s as confusing as it is addicting. You’re not supposed to fall this quickly.
Carter shifts me onto my side and settles behind me, his hand on my hip, lips on my neck. “You’re so beautiful, Ollie.”
My giggle is more anxious than I’d like. My feelings are coming on strong for this man, at full speed, and I don’t know how to slow down. I can’t find a pause button, and it’s daunting.
“Slow and steady tonight, ’kay? I just wanna feel you.
” Carter lifts my leg, the tip of his cock sliding along my slit.
I grip the sheets as he starts pushing in, and his fingers lace through mine.
His mouth sweeps down my neck, across my shoulder, teeth pressing into my skin as he rocks his hips against mine.
“Every inch of you. It’s all my favorite. You’re my favorite. My princess.”
There’s that damn giggle again. “That nickname is ridiculous, but I think I love it.”
He smiles against my neck and releases my hand to run his fingers up the length of my arm, then down my side.
Fingertips dig into my hip as his pace quickens, each thrust deeper and more powerful than the last. My mouth opens with a gasp when he strokes the tight bundle of nerves at the cleft of my thighs.
“You want another one? What about pumpkin? How ’bout it, Liv? You wanna be my pumpkin pie?”
“You’re too much.” I barely manage an eye roll, and Carter swallows my breathy laugh with his mouth.
“I think you wanna be my pumpkin.”
“I wanna be your anything.”
His hand glides up my belly, between the valley of my breasts, before it closes over my throat. He angles my face toward his, never slowing his movements. “How about my everything?”
My heart stops beating at those simple words.
Carter doesn’t dare tear his gaze off mine, the way those eyes are watching me so intimidating, penetrating, as he keeps moving, driving forward, panting.
His forehead creases as his eyes squeeze shut for only the briefest moment before his mouth devours mine in a kiss so fierce, so hungry, I feel it right down to the tips of my toes.
His name leaves my mouth a cry, and he buries mine in my neck when the world shatters around us.
Carter crushes me to him, folding me in his arms while I struggle to catch my breath. It’s one part soul-crushing orgasm, but mostly the feelings I have for him that are suffocating me right now. I bury them in my throat, and my face in his heaving chest.
A grumble fills the air, coming from his stomach, and he rolls on top of me. “I hate to ruin this moment but I’m hungry again.”
“You are a bottomless pit. I made blueberry muffins. They’re in the—”
He leaps off the bed with a squeal—yes, a squeal—and I watch his bare ass disappear into the hallway faster than I’ve ever seen this man move when he’s not on skates. He returns thirty seconds later with his cheeks and hands full. “Found ’em.”
“—pantry. Wow. Three muffins, huh?”
“Four,” he mumbles, pointing at his chipmunk cheeks. He swallows, offering one to me. “One’s for you.” He pulls it back into his chest. “Unless you don’t want it. Then I’ll eat it.”
“Carter—”
“Yeah.” His head bobs as he kneels on the bed, tearing one muffin apart. “You’re right. Sharing is caring.” He stuffs a piece between my lips before I can object and then flops onto his back, legs hanging over the edge. “Your bed is too small for me.”
“It fits me just right.”
“That’s because you’re pint-sized.”
“And you’re monster-sized.”
He looks down at his crotch, swiveling his hips, making my favorite of his muscles dance. “Hear that, big guy? We’re monster-sized.”
I shake my head. “What in the hell have I gotten myself into?”
He chuckles. “Did your kids give you any more trouble after Monday?”
Pouting, I snuggle into this side. “One of my boys called me a puck bunny.”
“He sure did, and you lit him the hell up for it. I knew you could back all that sass up.” His fingers trail a slow path up and down my spine. “Everything else go okay? Em said something about your brother being upset.”
“It’s fine.” I place my palm over his stomach, feeling the corded muscles that ripple beneath the sizzling surface of his skin.
“Ollie. Be honest with me. Please.”
Sighing, I tilt my head, meeting his gaze. “He wasn’t happy at first. He wanted me to stop seeing you.” His body tenses. “But I explained it to him. And he was…It’s okay now.”
“Is it?”
I press my lips to his collarbone and nod. “He wants me to be happy.”
“And are you? Happy?”
My cheeks hurt with the grin I grace him with. “What do you think?”
His own grin is detonating, exploding across his face as his hand skims my jaw, bringing my lips to his. “I think I love your smile more than anything in this world.”
Carter rolls to his side and hits the switch on the lamp before pulling me into him, covering us in blankets. He’s right: I don’t need layers and layers of clothes to keep me warm. All I need is him and the fire that fuels in my belly when he’s with me.
His lips touch my neck, my ear, my cheek as he sings softly, those same words he sang to me back in December while he held me in his arms and spun me around a crowded dance floor.
“I’m so lucky to be the man who gets to keep you by his side, Ollie.” Burying his face in my neck, Carter makes a soft, happy noise. “Goodnight, pumpkin. Like you.”
“Like you, too, Carter.”
* * *
It’s only seven in the morning and my Thursday is already shaping up to be as fantastic as my Wednesday night, because Carter’s body is still wound around mine.
“No,” he growls, thick and husky as I try to slip out of his hold when my alarm goes off. His hand closes over my throat, hauling me back to him, and he throws a leg over me, a quiet hum of satisfaction rumbling from his chest. “You stay with me.”
“I have to go to work, Carter.”
Long fingers skim down my belly, pushing their way between my thighs. “You feel hot. Sick day.”
I turn in his arms and kiss his sleepy face, his eyes still closed, dark lashes resting against his cheekbones. “I’m sorry. You keep sleeping. I’ll leave my spare key in the kitchen.”
“Can I eat more muffins?”
“Are you gonna eat them all?”
He sighs. It’s a resigned sigh, but pleased, like he’s happy I know him well enough to ask the question. “Yeah. We can make more this weekend when I keep you for three days.”
I think Carter’s asleep when I’m ready to leave a half hour later, so I don’t bother saying good-bye. That’s a mistake; he screams my name from the bed when I open the front door.
I lean against the bedroom door. “You rang, sir?”
His arms reach above him, and he curls his fingers into his palms. “Need a hug and a kiss.”
When his arms come around, hug as crushing as it always is, kiss hot enough to up my body temperature, I’m considering taking that sick day after all. But then he releases me, turning me around and giving me a pat on my butt.
“Have a good day, pumpkin.” He rolls himself into a perfect burrito, muttering to himself about the size of my bed and the ungodly temperature in my house.
My day only gets better when I’m called down to the office shortly after noon to find the limo driver who gave me a ride home from the engagement party last weekend waiting with a brown bag that smells delicious.
Inside is a take-out container filled with bacon carbonara from an expensive Italian restaurant, and a slice of chocolate cheesecake topped with an Oreo.
When I get home from work, it smells different. That sounds weird, I know, but it does. Maybe it’s Carter having been here, or maybe it’s me being crazy. Either way, I smile to myself as I take off my coat and head to the kitchen.
I halt in the doorway, gaping at the bright display on my counter. Pink, orange, and yellow tulips fill a glass vase. The note sitting next to them has my stomach somersaulting.
Pretty and bright, just like you.
Can’t wait to wake up with you this weekend.
Like you lots,
Carter
I fan at my face, trying to disperse the heat rushing to it right now. When that doesn’t work— I’m freaking sweating right now —I unzip my sweater and toss it into my bedroom. But I’m still hot, so I start pulling my leggings over my hips and—
Why am I hot?
I slink over to the thermostat like I’m afraid to look at it. I kind of am.
Seventy-two. It’s seventy-fucking-two degrees in here. Quite the stark contrast from the frigid air that’s been circulating for the past several days.
I get halfway down the basement stairs before I turn and run up them again. Two more tries before I finally make it down. I grip my throat, hand shaking on the railing as I gawk.
I’m gawking at my basement.
Specifically, I’m gawking at the shiny, brand-new furnace that absolutely, 110 percent was not here this morning.